


we're going to live at last

by tosca1390



Category: Psy-Changeling - Nalini Singh
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 16:06:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1785124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/pseuds/tosca1390
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“The comfort of empaths is undeniable,” he says into the silence. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“The Net sometimes knows what it’s doing,” Sahara replies, all amusement. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	we're going to live at last

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magisterequitum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterequitum/gifts), [spyglass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spyglass/gifts), [empressearwig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/empressearwig/gifts), [theepiccek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theepiccek/gifts).



> For Jordan. 
> 
> And everybody else. 
> 
> All credit to bb empath princess to Jordan and Grace. I'm just dirtying it all up with angst.

*

For so long, Kaleb would sit in his office, surrounded by silence. The house he built for Sahara held only him for the longest time, his only company the wind. Before she came back into his life, he didn’t realize the lack. Why should he?

Now, though, he sits in his office, focused on quarterly earnings reports and updates from Aden and the Arrow Squad, and the house is suffused with sound. Their dog, Judd, trots around the house and weaves in and out of rooms with an eager nose, sometimes lingering to sit underneath Kaleb’s desk at his feet for a time. The click of his nails on the gleaming hardwood is a familiar rhythm now. Sahara, when she is home and not out visiting her family or her changeling friends, or at a charity meeting or function, or working with the Empaths for one of their many meetings of the Coalition, listens to music as she reads in her study, or hums as she cleans the kitchen. When she cooks – as determined as she is to demonstrate the joys of flavors to him – the clattering and the sounds are soothing, a reminder as constant as their obsidian-gold bond that he is never alone. 

There are new sounds now, ones he is still learning the meanings of. Elena is eight months old, and has been with them for two. She is objectively perfect; he can say so with authority. Skin the color of coffee, dark chocolate-brown curls, blue eyes; she is always smiling, always happy to see them both. Her trust in them is implicit, and it shatters him daily to think on it. There is no reason a child should feel safe in his arms, and yet she does. When she cries, it tears at his chest, and the quiet dark void lingering within him is disturbed. But she coos and laughs, claps her hands on every surface. An E designation, she senses much though she does not understand what it means; he keeps a shield around her, will keep it until she is old enough to work with Sascha Duncan, to build her own shields and feedback loops. 

Until then, though, he is directly linked with both Sahara and their daughter. The Honeycomb Protocol shows its true use here in their family unit; though untrained, Elena immediately latched onto them on the psychic plane, those translucent gold bonds that now web through the Net. In addition, the mental bond between him and Sahara seems to have accepted Elena as a part of their unit, creating a loop between the three of them of black and gold. It is comforting in the oddest of ways, and still unbelievable. 

(Elena has also latched onto Judd and Leon in addition to Sahara and Kaleb. She will be a high-Gradient Empath, with this much power so early. He can’t help but be impressed with his choosing of orphan.)

Late morning sun creeps through his office windows, one day in late May. Kaleb tilts his head, listening. The house is oddly quiet. There is no cause for alarm; love has not softened his utter inflexibility concerning his family’s security. But the quiet, though harmless, causes his brow to furrow. Elena is a happy, chatty, rather loud child, and Sahara feeds into that; for it to be this quiet is puzzling. 

He has just decided to investigate when Sahara slips into his office with a sly smile and shuts the door. 

“I was just coming to look for you,” he says, sitting back in his chair. 

She blinks deep blue eyes at him, her smile pleased and full of promise. “There’s no need. I’ve come to you,” she says, swaying towards him. Her dress flares out at the knees, revealing strong calves and bare feet, the blue and pink floral pattern happy against her honeyed skin, her dark hair. In the coming summer, she will tan deeply; he likes the bronzing of her skin against their sheets, like she is some sort of sea nymph. 

“And why is that?” he asks, voice cool. 

Her hands slide over his arms, warm through the sleeves of his button-down shirt. As she wraps her arms around his neck he pushes back from his desk and she settles herself astride his lap, her dark hair loose down her back. His hands come to her waist, holding her tightly. She settles easily in the cradle of his hold, her fingers rubbing soothingly down the nape of his neck. 

“Elena is asleep,” she whispers, her lips brushing his. 

He is suddenly mindful of how long it has been since he’s touched Sahara. Truly touched her. She has introduced casual affection into his life once again, of course; daily, she will give hugs, touches of her hand to his arm, his hair, kisses of hello and goodbye. But since the baby’s permanent arrival in their home, between adjusting to sleeping patterns and waking up constantly to check on Elena – for a week, he slept a soldier’s sleep outside her nursery to ensure her safety, until Sahara dragged him back to bed – and the visits from family and friends, they have had little personal time for each other. 

Desire holds him fast, sudden; he tightens his grasp on her waist and deepens their kiss, his mouth hungry under hers. She laughs into his mouth and tunnels her fingers into his hair, cradling his head in her palms. She tastes sweet and clean, as she always does; there is darkness in her, but of survival. But his every action bears her name, and he will not dishonor not, has not in the three years it has been since they have reunited. 

“She is safe?” he asks against her lips, rising from his chair with ease. 

Her thighs wrap around his waist and she presses against his chest, sighing. Her breath, warm against his skin, short-circuits his thought process, and he drops her with gentle ease to his desk, his hands searching for her dancer’s curves under her sundress. “Judd is standing guard.”

A smile twitches at the corner of his mouth, only for her. “You mean he’s sleeping outside her room.”

Sahara laughs, arching into his touch as he palms her breasts, the nipples peaking under the cotton of her dress. “He’s a good guard dog.”

“Not if he’s sleeping.”

“I imagine he would wake quickly and efficiently to protect our daughter, just as you trained him, if any of your many security precautions failed,” she teases, kissing her way down the line of his jaw, his throat. Her tongue is a wet warm brand against his skin. 

Bowing his head, he finds the zip of her dress at the back and peels it away from her spine, touching warm smooth skin, his fingertips remembering the raised silvery scars there. She is a survivor and she is his; their bond thrums with devotion as she bites at his throat, her hands sliding over his broad back to his hips, searching for his belt buckle. His cock is hard against her thigh as she undoes his pants, his mouth touching her temple, her hair, his hands smoothing over her curves as murmurs her name. The air is electric with want between them, the hair rising on the back of his neck – he’s sure once they are skin to skin, the grassy plains outside his windows will shudder in the aftereffects. 

She closes her fingers around his cock and strokes, humming deliciously against his collarbones. “Try not to break any windows,” she teases, licking the hollow of his throat. 

Abruptly, he stops. His hands freeze on her thighs, her skirt bunched up in his palms. 

“Kaleb?” she whispers. He can feel her charm bracelet, cool against his abdomen. 

He has a matching one for Elena, when she is old enough. Now, any charms would be too small. She could choke. 

_Kaleb?_

Sahara’s query comes over their mental pathway, all concern. 

The leash on his Tk slips as her fingers stroke him. He feels more than hears the groan of the house. 

Elena. 

“We can’t,” he says, voice like gravel. 

When he looks at her, Sahara is flushed, her mouth agape with shock. “Kaleb – “

“My control – I can’t - “ he grits out, peeling her hand away from his cock and stepping away from her. His body quivers with need; the furniture trembles beneath him. He thinks of their daughter, their baby asleep in a crib of wood – wood splinters – he has cracked kitchen counters with Sahara before, and his control – 

Sahara stares at him, dress askew and hair strewn across her shoulders. Her lips are swollen from his kiss. “Kaleb, I was kidding about the windows,” she says after a moment, still perched on his desk. 

“I’m not.” Unless he is absolutely certain he can control himself, he cannot take the risk. Not even obsidian shielding would help. And if he lost control, and anything happened to Elena – 

“Kaleb, this is silly.”

“It is _not_ ,” he says sharply. The blood clicks hotly in his veins and he can feel the tremors in the walls. Slowly he breathes in and out, his gaze focused anywhere but Sahara. Panic rises in his throat like bile, a harsh reminder of just how dangerous he is, no matter how much love resides in Sahara’s heart. 

Slowly, she pushes down her skirts and slides off his desk. “I trust you,” she says gently. “I trust you not to hurt our daughter. Or me.”

He hears it. He feels it in the bond. He _knows_ it. 

But he can’t – he cannot take another risk. Not again. 

“I have a meeting,” he says curtly, tucking his shirt back into his black trousers. He reaches for the jacket hanging over his chair. 

She blinks, eyes wide with disbelief. “Kaleb – “

“I’ll be home for dinner,” he says, and disappears in a split-second teleport. He goes to their island, their beach – they’ve already brought Elena here twice, let her put her toes into the ocean. He sits in the sand, heedless of his suit, and stares out into the ocean, allowing the waves to crest and thrash against the shore in a necessary release of his energy. 

The bond is steady, if cool. 

*

He comes home, abashed at his disappearance. Very rarely has he ever run from anything; never has he run from Sahara. But fatherhood is still a strange beast to him; no matter how many manuals he reads, he has no practical experience in the nurture of another being. 

The spring sun is still high in the sky as he makes his way through the house, following the sounds of his family. Sahara’s warm low tones reverberate through him and their bond as he nears the kitchen. Judd, a grown dog with moderately long dark fur and a cheerful temperament, meets him at the front door and follows him through the house at his heels. 

Lingering in the doorway, he watches silently as Sahara hums to Elena. Sahara has her back to him, facing the stove and the counters, preparing something like a vegetable pasta dish. Though he does not like overly spicy, sour, or sweet flavors, he has slowly grown used to so-termed “real” food. Sahara understands his tastes, and never pushes him too far. She likes to cook and bake though; she sees it as a stress reliever and a creative endeavor. While he doesn’t always like everything that she makes, he does like watching her in the kitchen. It is the fulfillment of that long-ago dream of theirs, before the blood and violence and darkness that has shaped them both.

Elena, in her high chair, claps her hands against the marble island counter with a laugh. In their mental web, he can see her, rainbow sparks shielded by his own mental barriers. Sahara is there too, gold and steady and brilliant. In that dark void that has never left him, he feels a strange ache. He lifts his hand to rub his knuckles over his chest, searching to soothe that ache. 

Sahara turns and meets his gaze. Her face softens impossibly, her hands busy stirring the warm spring vegetables and pasta in olive oil. He can smell the herbs from here, basil and thyme. 

“Hi there,” she says, voice catching. 

He blinks, and moves into the kitchen. He strips the jacket from his shoulders and drapes it over the nearest chair. “I told you I would be home for dinner,” he says evenly. 

“I know,” she says, watching him. 

Pausing by Elena’s high chair, Kaleb rests a hand on top of her head. She lifts her eyes to him and smiles gummily, reaching up with her chubby little arms. Sahara has dressed her in a peachy pink dress with white ruffles, utterly foolish and feminine. As much as a part of him sees no use for it, the part indelibly stamped by Sahara – the largest part of him – is fond of it. She looks like a princess, as silly as it seems – as awful as it would be in a Silent world. 

“Hello, Elena,” he murmurs, shifting to hook his hands under her armpits and lift her out of her chair. She giggles and settles against his chest, hands curling into little fists. Her cheek fits into the hollow of his shoulder, and he feels it, a strangling kind of warmth and love he still doesn’t understand how to process. Like Sahara, their daughter is written on his soul, his every action a reflection of her. He wonders how to hold it all, contain it all. 

“She was looking for you,” Sahara says after a moment. When he looks at her over Elena’s curly head, she is watching them with such warmth that he is dumbstruck temporarily. These are the moments when he still can’t believe she is here, bonded to him in this way of her free will, creating a family with him. 

“When?” he asks. 

Sahara’s lips twitch. “When you had your meeting.”

He keeps her gaze. “When I disappear, you know it’s important.” _I did not want to hurt either of you_. 

“I know,” she says. _I still don’t think you would have._

Warm breath settles against his neck in an easy rhythm. Against his chest, Elena coos. The rainbow sparks of her mind settle against his in their web, trying to ease him. She is so young, too young to ignore the instincts of her ability. Her little fists curl against his shirt and he finds himself leaning in towards her, resting his cheek against the top of her head gently. 

“The comfort of empaths is undeniable,” he says into the silence. 

“The Net sometimes knows what it’s doing,” Sahara replies, all amusement. “Hungry?”

“Are you going to make me eat your food?” he asks, rocking slowly with the baby. 

“It’s very mild. And nutritious,” she says dryly. 

“Fine,” he says evenly, sitting down at the island with Elena in his lap. Judd circles him once, and sits down in a heap of fur and limbs, tail thumping against the tile floor.

Sahara plates the pasta and vegetables, and adds a flavorless nutrient drink for him. She takes a cherry-flavored one, as tradition. With Elena in his lap, they eat at the island in relative quiet. He likes the clean taste of the pasta and the vegetables; Sahara and Elena frequent the local farmer’s markets in Moscow and San Francisco. He doesn’t fully understand why, when he can ‘port in anything she could ever want, but it makes her happy – therefore, it makes him happy. 

“It’s your turn for bath time,” Sahara says with a smile as she takes their empty dishes to the sink. 

The bedtime process is arduous and time-consuming, especially considering Elena is just an infant. However, Kaleb appreciates the routine. It is repetitive and practical, which settles his nerves. With a flicker of a smile, he rises from the island and takes Elena upstairs to the bathroom he added off the nursery, in preparation for her arrival all those months ago. Judd follows, tongue lolling from his mouth, to sit at the open door and keep watch. 

“You like these toys, don’t you?” he asks Elena as he kneels by the bathtub. She sits in a little plas-seat in the tub, steadying her. Bubbles crest at her little elbows, and she pats at them with the two rubber ducks in her hands, a gift from Brenna. One of the yellow ducks has a black eye patch. Comical, apparently. 

Elena smiles toothlessly up at him, giggling. Inside the dark silent parts of him, the smile reflects. He rinses her carefully, mindful of her eyes. 

“This one is a pirate,” he tells her, pointing at the one in her left hand. 

She claps her hands and hugs the ducks to herself. He can feel the sparks of warmth and love traveling along their bond, rainbow sparks that he once thought would never penetrate his shields. Now, from his daughter, he welcomes them. 

“Perhaps, when you are old enough to process language, we will create stories for the ducks,” he says as he lifts her from the bath and dries her off in a large white fluffy towel. 

Yawning, she curls up to his chest, smelling of clean soap and baby powder. He clothes her in a diaper and footie pajamas with cartoon wolves on them, and rocks her to sleep, their familiar routine. After settling her in her crib, he does his nightly check of the security measures in her room, the safety of her shelving and crib. He leaves Judd to guard her door and, using the steady black-and-gold bond, he tracks Sahara to the koi pond. 

“She is asleep,” he says as he sits next to her. 

Sahara reaches over and takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. The orange sunset streams through the windows, shimmering over the water. The koi sweep through the water smoothly, contentedly, Kaleb would think. 

“You haven’t lost control in a very long time, love,” she says softly, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles. 

“I keep track of my power expenditures,” he says evenly.

She turns her head to him and smiles. Her midnight-blue eyes shine in the reflection of the water, the touch of fading sunlight bringing out the highlights of red in her dark hair. Again, for the millionth time, he is struck by the resilient beauty of her, by the strength of her. 

“Just trust yourself,” she says quietly, scooting closer to lean against the solid bulk of his shoulder. “Trust in us. You would never put either of us in danger.”

Her surety is a balm to the raw nerves inside. He swallows, the lump in his throat appearing suddenly. 

“I never want her to suffer,” he says after a long moment of silence. 

Tilting her head up, she kisses him softly. He reaches up and smooths the wavy lengths of her hair away from her face. “Don’t make me get tough with you,” she teases. 

“I wouldn’t necessarily mind,” he rejoins, a mental image of him at her mercy appearing. It sounds appealing. 

Grinning widely, as she does so often when he attempts humor, she pats his chest. “You love her so much. Just as you love me. I think your mind recognizes that. Just as you would never hurt me, it will not let you hurt her.”

“The earthquakes may have to go deeper,” he murmurs, weaving his fingers through her hair. 

She laughs, the sound light and soft. “Send them as deep as you want. Just don’t blow up the earth’s core.”

He stiffens, and she rolls her eyes. “For god’s sake, Kaleb-“

“Will it always be like this?” he asks her abruptly, voice husky. “Will I be terrified of everything happening in her life? Of myself?”

The lines of Sahara’s face soften further. She shifts to settle in his lap, cupping his face in her hands. He balances them both with the slight exertion of his Tk, wrapping his arms around her waist. She touches the hard line of his jaw, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she smiles. 

“I think that’s parenthood,” she says. “And I think that’s okay. She’s going to get hurt. She’s going to make mistakes. But we’re always going to be here for her. She will always have a home with us. She already knows that. She loves us, Kaleb. She’s our daughter.”

The hollow ache in his chest fills slightly. He strokes his hands over her spine, the warmth of her skin bleeding through her dress. “I never thought this would happen,” he says, voice like gravel.

She kisses him softly, eyes unbearably soft and bright. “I always hoped it would.”

He twines his fingers into her hair and deepens the kiss, licking into her mouth in a way that he knows makes her shiver and moan. She loops her arms around his neck and shifts closer to his chest, her limbs moving as she straddles him right there by the koi pond. Every time is a gift to him, to what remains of his battered soul. She nudges him back and he takes the hint, stretching out on the floor as she curls over him, kissing along the line of his throat as her hair falls around them like a dark curtain. She smiles and he feels it along every inch of their bond, a warmth deep in his chest he has never attempted to shut out or push away. 

“Think I can get two earthquakes out of you?” she teases against his lips. 

He smiles, the smallest curve of his mouth, right against her kiss. “It may be possible.”

Laughing, she rubs up against him as his hands slide over her waist and to her breasts. “Let’s find out,” she whispers, voice husky and wicked. 

In the end, there are three tremors; two from the koi pond, and one in the cocoon of their bed. 

Elena stays safely asleep. 

*


End file.
